Valentina (3 page)

‘Aha! How delightful! How exquisite! Madame, your devoted servant.' He swept Valentina an exaggerated bow, and immediately offered her his arm. He was not a man who wasted time, and one look into those beautiful blue eyes had convinced him that indeed there was no time to waste. ‘I'll swear you've had no supper? No? I thought not—nor have I, dammit. I'm as hungry as the devil and you must be too. Come and we'll set ourselves to rights. And you must tell me all about yourself.'

Everyone was watching them as they sat down in the inner room at a table reserved for the King of Naples, and Valentina flushed as the Emperor himself glanced up. Murat saw it and laughed. He had a very loud, infectious laugh, and she couldn't help liking him in spite of his vulgarity. ‘
Dieu
—it's an age since I've seen a woman blush,' he confided. ‘And it's damnably pretty on you. What's your name, I can't get my tongue round Polish.'

‘Valentina, Sire,' she said. ‘The Emperor looked at us as we sat down; I shouldn't be here, my rank isn't sufficient.'

‘To hell with that,' the Marshal said. ‘Your beauty entitles you to be over there with
him
, if he hadn't involved himself with the other lady. Isn't it strange how a lovely woman can look so damned miserable? I couldn't endure it myself. I like gaiety. Armand, stop standing there with your mouth open and pour us some wine! And get some food, man, for God's sake. Madame is starving!'

The food was superb: chicken in aspic with fresh cherries, quantities of rich pastries, and out-of-season fruits. Murat drank and ate with uninhibited enjoyment, pressing her to do the same.

‘Where's your husband?' he enquired.

Valentina had begun to enjoy herself; it was impossible not to with such a companion; many women had found themselves in his bed while they were still laughing at his jokes; the Empress Josephine herself had been unable to resist his light-hearted, rascally approach to love after the suffocatingly dull passion of her brilliant husband. ‘My husband has gone home,' Valentina said. ‘He's tired.'

It was on the edge of Murat's tongue to add that he was also tactful but he stopped himself in time. Such a lovely, charming creature, and with an engaging air of innocence—she might be frightened away if he were too impetuous. ‘How fortunate for me; here I am, having supper with the most beautiful woman in the room—yes, Armand, what is it?' He turned to his aide-de-camp, a tall pleasant-looking young officer in a red and green uniform; he bent and whispered something to the Marshal, and passed him a piece of paper. Murat smiled at Valentina and apologised.

‘Paper,' he said. ‘The bane of the soldier's life. Permit me one moment, Madame.'

The note was short and unsigned. It said simply:
Be careful; this is the one we were warned about. Leave her to me
. Murat read it and grimaced; he put it in his pocket and said lightly: ‘
Hélas
, duty follows everywhere. The Emperor will be leaving soon and I must attend him. Let me select someone to take care of you till I get back. Armand, fetch Colonel De Chavel.'

She knew him at once; the man who had stared at her so deliberately earlier in the evening now bowed and kissed her hand, and for a moment the steel grey eyes met hers again. ‘I have been admiring you from afar, Madame,' he said.

‘Make sure you don't shorten the distance, my friend,' Murat reminded him. He got up and took leave of Valentina. When he too kissed her hand his lips were hot and they lingered.

‘Pay no attention to him,' he said. ‘He's just a dull infantry Colonel. Keep your allegiance for the cavalry.
Au revoir
, Madame.'

She sat silently, watching the swaggering figure make its way to Napoleon's table and, after a moment, sit down with him.

‘You must forgive me,' Colonel De Chavel said, ‘I have been longing to introduce myself. I'm very grateful to the Marshal.'

‘He's a charming man,' Valentina said defensively. There was something mocking in his voice that made her sure he was laughing at the vulgar Gascon, and at her. ‘I hadn't eaten a bite or touched a glass of wine,' she added. ‘The crush was abominable; he did me a great service by inviting me to share supper with him.'

‘But of course,' the Colonel said. ‘The Marshal is always concerned with the comfort of pretty ladies. You don't owe me any explanation, my dear Madame. I'm only too happy to deputise for him for a while. Is there anything I can get for you? A little Polish vodka, perhaps?'

‘No thank you. There's nothing I want.' She turned away from him angrily. ‘How long do you suppose the Marshal will be?'

‘That's hard to say; I see signs that the Emperor is about to leave. If he takes Murat with him he won't appear again tonight. Unless, of course, you have made an arrangement?' He asked the insulting question in a casual, mocking voice that made her flush to her hair.

‘I have no idea what you mean, Colonel. Please take me back to the main salon where I can find someone to take me home.' She had half risen from her chair when the pressure of his hand on her arm stopped her; it was firm enough to make her sit down again.

‘Please,' he said, ‘allow me to make amends for having made you angry. I'm only a dull infantryman, as the Marshal said. I've been too long campaigning, I suppose; I've forgotten my manners. Please forgive me.'

Slowly he withdrew his hand and she remained in her chair. She didn't want to forgive him; she didn't even believe his apology, but there was something about the man that made it difficult to refuse him. He poured wine for her and for himself and they drank it without speaking; he was watching her intently, studying her with the same arrogant appraisal which had made her so uncomfortable in the reception room, before they had even met.

‘Colonel De Chavel,' she said suddenly. ‘Why are you staring at me? Is anything wrong with me?'

‘I beg your pardon again, Madame,' he said coolly. ‘I was thinking how beautiful you were. Where is your husband, by the way?'

‘He left earlier; he was tired.' The excuse sounded so lame that Valentina blushed and turned away. ‘I ought to leave,' she said. ‘I'm sure it's late.'

‘Unfortunately we must wait until the Emperor goes first,' the Colonel remarked. ‘I'm sorry I'm being a such a poor substitute for the Marshal. I was hoping to find favour with you.' The hard, shrewd eyes bored into hers, and there was contempt in them as well as mockery.

‘Then I'm afraid you've failed,' Valentina said. ‘I do so want to go home; how much longer will he be?'

‘Not too long,' the Colonel said. ‘The Emperor doesn't linger at the table; he eats as a necessity. I see Madame Walewska has already finished.'

Valentina glanced across the table where Napoleon was sitting; Murat was leaning forward saying something to him, and the Countess was clearly in their view.

‘She looks so terribly sad,' Valentina said suddenly. ‘Poor woman. I wonder if he cares for her?'

‘I doubt it,' the Colonel said. ‘He only loved one woman, and that was Josephine. It's a pity, because Walewska is the only one that's ever been true to him, and God knows, that's a miracle itself!'

‘You have a low opinion of my sex, Colonel,' she said coldly. ‘There are more virtuous women in the world than there are men worthy of them!'

‘I assure you,' he said, ‘I adore women, Madame. I think you are all the most delightful creatures. It seems that everything I say annoys you—how can I make amends?'

She shrugged, without answering. She found this man's blend of cynicism and mockery infinitely disturbing; it made her want to cry; it was ridiculous to be affected by a perfect stranger, and she despised herself. With an effort she turned back to him.'Colonel De Chavel, I see the Emperor is about to leave. Will you escort me to Count Potocki, so that he can take me home? I hate to impose myself on you, but I'm not accustomed to being alone in public gatherings, and the Count promised to take care of me …'

‘I'm sure he did,' the Colonel said. ‘And we will find him. Have you never been alone before, then? Your husband doesn't usually abandon you?'

‘He hasn't,' she said quickly, and then stopped, because it was useless lying to the man sitting opposite her, and he would mock her if she tried.

‘He didn't know that I would be left …' she said, and he finished the sentence for her:

‘With a boor like me, Madame. I understand. Let me give you some wine; you look quite pale.' She drank it quickly, aware that he was still watching her, but that his eyes were kinder suddenly. ‘May I ask a question, Madame? How old are you?'

‘Twenty-two,' Valentina said.

‘The Emperor's leaving,' De Chavel said. He held out his hand to help her rise and unwillingly she put hers into it. It was warm and strong, and it grasped her fingers firmly. As Napoleon left, the company bowed and curtsied, and she saw Murat look over his shoulder at her and make a grimace of apology. ‘The Marshal won't be coming back,' the Colonel said. ‘I'm afraid you are left with me, Madame.' They faced each other across the table; he was a head taller than she was, and in spite of the sabre scar he was one of the best-looking men she had seen in her life. He smiled, and it was the first time he had done so that evening. ‘Poor lady,' he said, ‘you've had a dismal supper. You've lost your husband, and your handsome Marshal, and been burdened with me instead. Can't we make the best of it? I feel you will never speak to me again.'

‘I doubt I'll have the chance,' Valentina said. ‘Besides, Colonel, to be fair to you, you were ordered to look after me. You didn't volunteer.'

‘Madame,' he said, ‘you are mistaken. I have been following you the entire evening, hoping for a chance to meet you. Nothing less than a Marshal and a King to boot would have kept me away. Were you expecting to meet Murat tonight?'

‘No, of course not. Count Potocki said he had asked to meet me. I was flattered, but quite surprised. Why do you ask?'

‘I'm curious,' he said. ‘People interest me; how long have you been married?'

‘Five years.'

He held out his arm and she placed her hand upon it; they moved to the door together. The orchestra had begun playing a waltz in the main reception room; she paused for a moment; the scene was beautiful to watch as the circling couples swept past them, the brilliant dresses of the women and the scarlet, green and blue of the French uniforms making a gorgeous pattern of colour in the candlelight.

‘Dance with me,' he said. ‘Just once, before you leave.' He had turned to her, and taken her into his arms while she was trying to refuse.

‘I should find the Count,' Valentina said. ‘I should go home …'

‘One dance, Madame,' he said quietly, and he began to move with her on to the floor. He held her with same firmness that had kept her in her chair, and she relaxed and let herself be guided. The Count didn't approve of the waltz; in conservative society it was still regarded as a very daring dance. Valentina found the rhythm irresistible; it swept her on like the strange, commanding man who held her, and she had a sensation of belonging to him at that moment which was quite insane, as if her body had lost its independent power of movement and her will had been stolen from her. They didn't speak, they danced not once but many times, until the couples thinned to a few, and suddenly he led her to a seat near one of the tall windows overlooking the square.

‘I'll get you some champagne. You look happier, Madame. I dance better than I make conversation. Wait for me here.'

He was back in a moment with two glasses, and he sat beside her. He thought dispassionately that she was the loveliest woman he had seen for many years, lovelier still when she smiled, and she smiled rarely. And she was not what he had suspected. She was not only a tool of the Polish faction but a dupe. He had danced with her for two reasons: to see if she would try to pump him, and because she attracted him. It was a pity she had this vulnerable quality; it made her very dangerous.

‘Good heavens,' Valentina said. ‘Listen, it's chiming two o'clock! Colonel, it's terribly late! I must find the Count at once.'

‘He left an hour ago,' De Chavel said. ‘I will escort you home.'

‘Oh no,' she said quickly. ‘No, there's no need. I have my own carriage here—there's no reason to impose on you.'

‘You are not imposing on me,' he said quietly. ‘And you are not travelling alone through this city at this hour. I am taking you home, Madame. That is decided. Come.'

They sat side by side in the jolting carriage; he had refused the rug which was spread over Valentina's knees; he leant back, one soft-booted leg crossed over the other, so still he might have been asleep. In the darkness her scent came to him; he was so acutely aware of her slight movements beside him that he closed his eyes. When he first joined her at Murat's table he had planned a very different ending to the evening. He had expected a sophisticated,
rusée
woman of the world, instead of an inexperienced girl with this damnable quality of being easily hurt. He had actually disliked making the opening moves that evening, goading her with semi-insults. If she had responded differently, indulging in the dubious exchange which was the accepted language between a man with seduction in mind and a woman prepared to be seduced, she would have been in his arms by now, with her soft mouth stopped with kisses, and her beautiful body exposed to his hands. He would have seduced the seductress without mercy, and then laughed in her face. That was his original plan, but the girl herself had defeated him. She may have been five years married, but she might just as well have been a virgin for all her knowledge of the world.

He was sure she was a spy; it only amused him to think how inept she was and the number of opportunities she had missed already. A foolish girl, inspired by patriotism, and undoubtedly used by men as unscrupulous as she was innocent. As head of the Intelligence Service in Poland, De Chavel had been warned that the Poles would try to plant a spy on Murat, and he had heard that the introduction would be made at the reception that night. It had all gone according to his expectations; the only piece in the puzzle which didn't fit was the Countess Valentina Grunowska.